Appreciation
by SurlyCoach
Summary: It's Teacher Appreciation Week at Pemberton High, and Coach Taylor is being showered with goodies. Tami wants to know when she's going to get HER appreciation, and so does Eric's new friend Marty. *New material added.* Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I deleted an unfinished / abandoned novel from the archive quite a bit ago. I co-wrote that with ICanStopAnytime. Now we're going to hack it to pieces and rewrite the pieces to see how many COMPLETE short stories we can get out of it for the archive. This one will be six chapters. Do review please. **

**One**

When Tami got home from work one evening in April, Eric already had dinner on the dining room table. As she walked from the living room through the kitchen to the dining room, she noticed all the flowers – on the kitchen table, on the hutch, down the hall from the dining room on the coffee table in the living room. "What's with all the flowers?"

"For you, babe, just because I love you."

"Seriously?"

"Well…it's teacher appreciation week."

"That again?"

"They have it every year, hon." He set out wine glasses and put the wine bottle on the table as Gracie slid into her seat. He sat at the head of the table and started filling his water glass.

Tami put her napkin in her lap and muttered, "I still don't see why y'all get an entire WEEK of appreciation."

"That's how they do it on the east coast, babe." He filled Gracie's glass and told her to pass the pitcher to her mother at the other end of the table. The kindergartener struggled with the heavy glass but managed to get it to her mother without spilling. "They've got high expectations out here."

"They give you flowers? The students? Even though you're a man?"

"They have a list this year."

The water streamed into Tami's glass as she poured, and then she set the pitcher aside. "What do you mean a list?"

"The school gave the students a list of what they're supposed to bring to their teachers each day. Today was flowers. Tomorrow is candy. Wednesday is the teacher appreciation luncheon – parents help with that – and Thursday they write me love notes. Friday is gift cards."

"They give you gift cards! ALL of your students?"

Eric had to teach full-time to pull in the same salary he used to make in Texas dedicating himself solely to football. They used him wherever they happened to have need, and this year he had no two periods alike. He taught a class each of Weight Training, P.E., Health, Driver's Ed, Public Speaking, and – much to Tami's merriment – Family Living, which he insisted was _not_ the same thing as Home Ec.

"That can't be right," Tami continued. You'd get hundreds of dollars in gift cards. That's…that's too many teachers. They all have seven teachers. That's insane. Families can't afford that."

"Well they've got it divvied up. Last name A-C focuses on their 1st period teacher, D-F does second period, and so forth. They pool thier money for their assigned teacher and a representative delivers the cards at the end of the day."

"That's the most ridiculous – "

"- Babe, don't you think I deserve to be appreciated?" He poured a glass of wine and passed her the bottle.

Her mouth fell shut. "Well I'd like to be appreciated from time to time too." She filled her glass.

"You are. Look at all the flowers I brought home for you."

She eyed him over her wine glass. "That your students brought you. Teenage boys seriously brought you flowers?"

"No, only the girls did. The girls seem to appreciate me more for some reason."

"I bet they do," she grumbled and set down her glass. "I don't know if that's a good idea, Eric, for the school to suggest teenage girls bring their male teachers flowers. I worry about you enough as is."

"Worry about me? What does that mean?"

She glanced at Gracie. She widened her eyes to communicate that they needed to watch what they said and how they said it. "You know what I mean."

"I have no idea what you mean," and he looked like he really didn't.

"You know…false accusations."

"What's a false acwusation?" Gracie asked.

Tami ignored her question. She knew those girls were always finding excuses to linger after class to talk to him. She would have, if she'd ever had a teacher who looked like him. And she'd seen the way Julie was with that one English teacher at her high school…maybe that should have given Tam a heads up about what awaited her daughter at college. "You always keep the door open, right?"

"Sure," he said sarcastically, "unless I'm giving _extra credit_." He lay down his fork and rested a hand on his leg. "You know I'm forty-four, right?"

"Hon, just be careful." He'd been out of the teaching world for so long. He'd worked only with boys for years. And sometimes she wondered if he realized how good-looking he was. He'd been aware in high school, but at some point he seemed to have assumed that just because he'd become a grown up, a father, and a long-time husband, he'd suddenly ceased to be attractive to anyone but his wife. "Just…be careful."

He shook his head. "A'ight. Any particular candy you want me to save you from tomorrow? Dark chocolate, right?"

"It's a bit much, don't you think?" She put her wine glass down. "Just who is this Gestapo who orchestrates teacher appreciation week anyway? How can you demand appreciation from an entire captive audience of students, and send them home with lists of things to lay at your feet like you were some walking shrine of – "

Eric turned to Gracie and nodded conspiratorially. "Mommy had a bad day," he said. "Why don't you go give her hug?"

Gracie got up and threw her arms around her mom. As Tami hugged her back, she continued to look sullenly at Eric. "When's my appreciation week?" she asked as Gracie went back to her seat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

When Tami came home from work on Wednesday, a delicious scent wafted through the house. "Smells great. What are you fixing?"

"I'm warming leftovers from the teacher appreciation luncheon," Eric answered. "It was really good. Chicken key something."

"Kiev?"

"Yeah. And there's potatoes au gratin, and vegetables."

"That's still going on? That appreciation week?" she asked.

"Yeah. It's all week long, babe. That's why it's called Teacher Appreciation _**Week**_."

She shook her head. "What is it you get tomorrow again? Maid service? Will they come to the house?"

"Just love notes tomorrow."

"No fair. I **never** get love notes."

The next morning, Tami yawned her way into the kitchen. She went straight to the coffee pot to start the coffee, but saw that it was already percolating. Then she saw the little stick-it note on the coffee pot: "Tami – I appreciate you. – Eric." She laughed and pulled off the little yellow square.

"Mornin'," he drawled from behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. "You get my love note?"

"I did," she said, and, smiling, turned and kissed him.

"Moooom!" came Gracie's voice from her bedroom. "Where are my school pants?"

Tami sighed, slipped out of Eric's arms, and started heading out of the kitchen. "Pour me a cup."

Tami pushed through a day full of interviews, with one really unusual applicant who had spent a month sleeping on park benches when his mom couldn't pay the rent. She'd got called into a last minute meeting, and didn't end up getting home until well after dinner. Eric was in his recliner, and, for a change, not reviewing game tape. He was watching Animal Planet, a mindless past time he and Gracie enjoyed together. Gracie was already in PJ's and was sprawled out across his lap, her head on one arm of the recliner, her feet dangling over the other.

"Your plate's in the fridge," Eric said when Tami set down her purse. "I let Gracie stay up so you could put her to bed."

Tami did put her to bed, and then she lay down on her back on the couch, propping her head up on a throw pillow and sighing. "Would you heat up my dinner and bring it to me, sugar? With a glass of wine?"

When he didn't respond she turned to look at him. He seemed a little peeved. "Please?" she asked.

"How many nights you gonna pull like this? "

"Hey, I've been in your place a thousand times over the years, Eric. Don't you start with me. I've been there for you, haven't I?"

He sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I know. It's my turn. Still, you'd think you could manage to go to the kitchen yourself."

"Just go get me my dinner, man!" She frowned. "It doesn't at all work like saying _woman_. See, that's how inherently sexist our society is. Even the resonance of the language itself – "

"- Are you auditing those damn Women's Studies classes again?" he asked as he stood. "Because in this patriarchal, heteronormative house - we don't dwell on sexual differences outside the bedroom."

She laughed. He leaned down over the back of the couch to kiss her where she lay. When his lips pulled away, his eyes didn't. They lingered on hers and then roamed downward to her chest. "Shut down that male gaze," she said.

"Yes, ma'am."

He began to pull away but she tugged him back. "Hey," she said softly, "From spring to mid-June is the busiest time. Admissions deadlines. Financial aid deadlines…you know that. It won't be like this much longer. And at least we have _different_ busy seasons so we can support _each other_. I'll be doing all this for you in the fall." She kissed him again. "And I appreciate how much you've stepped up. I really do."

He nodded and left for the kitchen. "Wake up!" he said when he returned and set her plate and wine on the coffee table. Then he removed the can of beer he'd lodged beneath his armpit for easy transportation from the kitchen, resumed his spot in the recliner, and popped the tab.

She sat up and began eating. "Wow, this is good." It was some kind of pasta dish with shrimp and tomatoes and basil.

"Why do you sound so surprised?"

"Well, it's just that before Phili, your menu of items you were willing to cook consisted of about six things: burgers, ribs, bacon, eggs, pancakes, and chili."

He shrugged and switched the TV from Animal Planet to ESPN.

"Hey," she asked when she was done eating. "Where are the appreciation notes you got in school today? I want to read them."

"You don't want to read them."

"Come on now! Let me. I've been curious what they'd say all day."

He gestured with the remote to a stack of folded papers on top of the entertainment center. She went to get them, sat back down, and started digging through them, smiling here and there, laughing occasionally. After she'd read several notes, Tami decided to read one aloud: "Top six things I appreciate about Coach Taylor- Number 6. He only makes one or two of the girls in our P.E. class cry once or twice a week."

"I don't _make_ them cry," he grumbled. "People are responsible for their own reactions."

"#5. He occasionally remembers my name is Tanner and not Tyler."

Eric lowered his beer from his mouth. "Well it _sounds_ like Tyler."

Tami laughed. She picked up her wine. " #4. He's the only coach who doesn't carry a flask." She paused. "Is that true?"

"No comment."

"No comment about whether the other coaches carry flasks or about whether you do?"

"No comment either way, babe."

"#3. In Health class, when we informed him that he'd already shown us that anti-drug movie three times, he put down the Sports section and let us do jumping jacks instead." Tami looked at him. "You have this kid for health and P.E.?"

"And driver's ed. Tyler and I are tight."

"But he's not on your team?"

Coach Taylor shook his head. "Throws like a girl. Which brings you to number 2."

"#2," Tami read, "Finally stopped saying I throw like a girl when he saw how Shawna Thompson throws."

"Wish _she_ could be my quarterback," he muttered.

"#1. He understands that he's too old for shorts and has finally opted to wear pants year round."

She laughed and tossed the notes onto the coffee table. "What's tomorrow again?"

"Gift cards. I'm told we each might get as much as $300. I've put the workd that I like Dick's Sporting Goods. This could turn out well for me."

"$300? Good Lord! That sounds like bribery."

"Well I can't give them _all_ A's." He shifted in his recliner, smiled, and leaned toward her so he could look at her earnestly. "Hey, did I mention how much I appreciate you? I'm starting to realize how much it took for you to support me in my career all those years. You made it look so easy, but I know it wasn't, and I appreciate all the work you did to keep our home running so smoothly."

"Why thank you, hon."

He took her hand and kissed it. "And did I mention how beautiful you look tonight?"

She chuckled. "Don't think I don't know what you're after, Coach. But you're timing is awful. You're going to have to wait another four days."

He frowned. "Shouldn't you be going through menopause soon?"

"Not that soon! Not necessarily! It _could_ be years still. And _that's_ certainly not going to help you the way you apparently think it is."

"Well I might finally get you to turn down the thermostat in the winter and save some money at least."

She held out her empty wine glass to him. "Oh my frugal servant, get me some more. Now."

He slid from his recliner. "I'll just bring you the bottle."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Coach Taylor popped outside after his P.E. class to return Tami's call. She told him she was going to be home late from work again and asked if he wanted her to get some dinner on her way home. "Yeah," he said. "Pick up some Mexican."

When he tucked his cell phone back in his pocket, the physics teacher, Marty Franklin, who had been standing out back smoking, threw his cigarette on the ashphalt and crushed it out. The lean thirty-five year old ran a hand over his tightly cut brown hair, his cobalt eyes twinkling. "You and Tami have an open marriage?"

Marty often interacted with Tami at the faculty parties Eric was told he _**had**_ to attend if he expected to get any support for the football program. Eric told Tami she had to make sure her calendar was free those nights and that they secured a babysitter, because he couldn't possibly go without her. She'd been the one to do most of his talking for him. At the third such party, Tami and Marty hit it off over some book they'd both recently read, which forced Eric to interact with Marty, which he'd never done before, and Marty hadn't left Coach Taylor alone since. Marty had decided he and Eric were great friends and that Eric was in desperate need of his advice on a wide range of subjects. Eric, as was his usual method of dealing with gregarious people who made him uncomfortable, typically assumed the deer-caught-in-the-headlights posture around him.

"What's that now?" Eric asked.

"I couldn't help but overhear you give her permission to bring home a strapping young Mexican."

"Food, Marty. Mexican food."

Marty laughed. "God you're so serious, Eric. I was joking of course. Tami doesn't strike me as the polyamourous type."

Eric grunted. Polyamorous? Was that some fancy word for cheater?

"Nor do you," Marty continued. "Though, I suppose most men who had someone _that_ hot to come home to…"

"Be glad you're not some other man saying that."

"You mean a straight man?" Eric didn't answer. "I love how carefully you always dance around it." Marty chortled. "It's so much fun."

Eric pursed his lips tightly.

"How is Tami doing anyway?"

"A'ight. Keeping busy. I gotta go. I'm late for my Family Living class."

"Teaching them how to thread a needle today?" Marty called after him as he disappeared through an exterior door.

Actually, today they were still working on their baby doll projects. Yesterday, they'd all been given a doll that cried until you fed it and peed water and that sort of thing, and they were supposed to take care of it for the next two weeks, but Coach Taylor had heard a lot of wailing coming from the locker bay when he walked down the hall this morning.

So after he'd taken roll, he said, "A'ight, listen up! Responsible Parenting 101 – don't leave your baby in your locker overnight."

"This is stupid," said one of the boys who always sat in the front row so he could better protest the injustice of being forced to take Family Living as part of the required Pemberton High curriculum. "A doll is not a real baby. It's nothing like a real baby."

Coach Taylor couldn't help but agree. It was an idiotic project that bore no resemblance to the reality of day-to-day parenting he had himself experienced, but it was part of the curriculum he'd been given to teach. He tossed down his roll call book and put his hands on his hips. "We're scrapping the baby doll project," he said. "Be honest with me now ladies and gentlemen. Raise your hand if you left your baby doll in your locker overnight!"

Half the class raised its hands.

"Those of you who raised your hands, your new assignment is to turn in a research report on the use and value of contraception. Those of you who did _not_ raise your hands, your new assignment is to provide, as a purely volunteer service, ten hours of babysitting over the next month for any child or children of less than seven years old. If you have any difficulty finding a child for whom to provide these services, see me after class, and I will be happy to arrange an opportunity for you."

/-*-/

"Mr. Taylor?" asked a girl from the front row of his Public Speaking class.

"_Coach_ Taylor," he corrected her. God, how many times did he have to remind these kids? Phili wasn't like Dillon, where everyone just _knew_ to call him coach, both on and off the field.

"When are we going to move on from motivational speeches to the other four types of speeches?" she asked. "I mean, the semester's almost over."

"When you've mastered the motivational speech, Ms. Harrington," he answered, "you won't need the other types of speeches. You can get other people to write and deliver them for you. Mr. Washington, you're up." A tall, lanky, teenager rose from the back row and walked to the front of the classroom with a paper in his hand. "Watch your inflection this time, son," Coach Taylor said to him before giving him the podium. "And remember, you got to project, but don't shout _all_ the words. Just shout the really important ones."

At the end of the period, the representative of the students who were assigned to appreciate Coach Taylor showed up with an envelope containing his appreciatory gift card. He happily took it. He'd already mapped out in his mind the gear he'd be picking up at Dick's Sporting Goods. The class must really appreciate him, too, because they were all watching eagerly as he tore the envelope open.

Coach Taylor slid out the hot pink Victoria's Secret card to a chorus of laughter. "Class dismissed," he said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Is she asleep?" Eric asked when Tami made her way out of Gracie's bedroom.

"Almost," she said. "I'm going to slip into my comfy sweats."

"Well, after school, I ran out and got you something else to slip into today. It's on the bed."

"What?" she asked. "You _got_ me something?" All curiosity, she rushed to the bedroom. Laid on the bed was an assortment of lingerie. Pretty, sexy stuff. "Why so much, hon?" she shouted from the bedroom. "Think it'll increase your odds?"

She jumped a little when he spoke from the doorway behind her, "Got a $300 gift certificate," he said. "But not to Dick's. To Victoria's Secret."

She laughed, picked up a dark red, lacy number, and held it against herself. He hadn't bought her any lingerie since before Gracie was born. Well, since before Julie was born, actually. Well…since…she wasn't sure he'd _ever_ bought her lingerie. He'd given her gift cards, sometimes, certainly, but he'd never dared to pick it out himself. She glanced at the assortment in amazement. "You did pretty well in your choices, here," she said with surprise. "How's that?"

"They have people in there who tell you what to buy."

She shook her head. "I just don't believe you set foot into Victoria's Secret. **You**? I don't believe it for a second."

"Okay. I sent Marty," he admitted. "Well, I didn't send him, exactly. He heard about the gift card and volunteered…well volunteered's not quite the right word…_demanded_ I let him help me out, for my own sake, he said, and…well…you know Marty."

"Well, Marty chose wisely." She looked at the tag of one item, checking for the size.

"Is it right?" he asked nervously.

"It's right," she said. "You knew my size?" she asked him, impressed.

He looked up at the ceiling.

"Oh. _Marty_ guessed my size for you. Even without being married to me for over twenty years, he was accurate."

"Babe, I really don't think you want me to have Marty's accuracy." She laughed. "You gonna model them for me tonight?" he asked, a hopeful twinkle in his eyes.

"Not tonight," she said. "It'll just work us both up, and it's still that time of month. But if you're _good_, I'll give you a fashion show Monday night."

"That's three days from now."

"Well then you'll be good and ready, _won't you_?"

"You could…just try them on tonight. Let me take a look. Make sure they fit you well. We don't have to _do_ anything."

"You're going to _want_ me to do something. And then _I'm_ going to want _you_ to do something in return, but you're not going to be able to reciprocate, so…"

"Why does it have to be tit for tat anyway? That's not a very selfless attitude, Tami." In response to her expression, and the violent way she began tossing the lingere into the top drawer of her dresser, he hastily backpedaled, "But I can see you've had a long day at work and you're very tired."

As she closed the drawer and turned to him, her expression softened. "I really will give you a spectacular show on Monday, hon. That's a promise."

He smiled wickedly. "I'm looking forward to it." He walked to the bed and began turning down the comforter while she pulled out her comfy PJs. "My students just thought they were being smart asses," he said with a smirk as he stacked up two pillows. "They had no idea it was the best gift card ever conceived."

**/-**-/ **

On Monday, Tami put on what Eric declared to be "a damn fine fashion show," but it was a short-lived one. After Gracie was in bed – finally – a little over an hour _after_ her usual bedtime - Tami told Eric she was ready and invited him into the bedroom. After a five-day dry spell, however, the seductive way she modeled that first piece of lingire was all he could take. She was just asking him which one he wanted her to try on next when he grabbed her, tossed her roguishly onto the bed, and began unbuttoning his pants.

"Sorry, babe," he said as he shed his jeans. "It's just - " - He hiked up her black negligee and slid down her silk panties - "I want you so badly tonight."

"It's okay," she murmured between his hungry kisses. "Sometimes I like it this way."

"Sometimes? But what about now?" He breathed heavily as he slid a hand between her thighs. "Do you want it this way now?"

"Yes…." she murmured. "_Now._"

"Oh, thank God," he groaned.

After they were mutually satisfied, Tami said, "I want to get under the covers." As soon as they were, she rolled sideways, lay her head on his chest, and promptly fell asleep.

So much for the after play, he thought. Maybe he shouldn't have jumped the gun and crashed the fashion show. He slid himself out carefully from under her. Kissing her cheek, he whispered, "I love you," even though he was well aware she couldn't hear him, because they'd never had sex without those words escaping his lips afterwards, not even the very first time, when she hadn't been expecting the words at all and had been startled and silenced by them for a good five minutes before she finally said them back.

He pulled on his boxers - he still had on his undershirt - and headed out to the living room to watch old game tape. He was just relaxing into his recliner and had just pressed play when there was a knock on the door.

"What the…" he muttered. He peeked through the peephole. _**Marty. **_"Damnit."

_He's your Philadelphia Buddy Garrity_, Tami had told him back in November. _Just accepted it. You __**need**__ a Buddy. You don't think you do, but you do._

_I know I do_, he'd said. _I know I couldn't have succeeded with either the Panthers or the Lions without Buddy._

_I don't mean you need a Buddy to get booster support_, Tami had replied, _I mean you need a Buddy because you need a buddy. Lowercase b buddy._

_Marty's not my buddy. _

_Fine, tell yourself that, Eric. He's not your buddy. But he's your Buddy Garrity. So you're going to have to put up with him and spend some time with him. Just accept it. _

Just accept it, he told himself now. Just accepted it. Acceptance. That was the mantra, right? Besides, Marty had picked out that lingerie. Eric owed him gratitude for more than the boosters.

He sighed and turned the knob of the front door.


	5. Chapter 5

**FIVE**

Eric opened the door, only partway, and looked outside, left and then right. "What are you doing here? It's ten at night."

"I was at Total Wine and saw this and I thought of you." The physics teacher raised a brown bottle.

"What…I don't…it's ten, Marty."

Marty pushed the door open. When he walked in, his forehead came to just below Eric's chin. He slid past Coach Taylor and went right into the house. "It's raspberry lambic. You'll love it."

"I don't love raspberry lambic. I've never even _had_ raspberry lambic."

Marty was already sitting down on the couch. "Get us a couple of pint glasses. Where's Tami?"

"She's asleep. Look, man, it's ten. You can't just show up and someone's house without calling. That's rude."

"Okay, here's the thing. Ralph locked me out of the house. And I had my car keys with me but not my house keys and he won't let me in. I'm sure he'll cool down in another hour or two. I just need a place to hang for a bit."

Eric grunted. "Well…let me get my pants on."

"You don't have to put pants on for my sake."

"Yeah, I do. I _really_ do."

"Fantastic boxers by the way," Marty said, a smile twisting the edges of his mouth.

"Tami gave me these," Eric said defensively.

"No way she gave you those. Goal posts? _Goal posts_? Seriously, Coach?"

"Well she did," he grumbled as he headed toward the bedroom.

"Apparently you didn't get the joke!" Marty called after him. The science teacher hung over the back of the couch and watched Eric walk. "Loving those underoos, Coach! Do you have Superman ones too?"

**/-***-/ **

"Wake up!" Eric insisted when he got back in the bedroom. Tami grunted. "Wake up! Marty's here. I need you to get rid of him for me."

She grunted and stirred. "What? What's he doing here?"

"I don't know. His boyfriend locked him out the house. Come on, get up."

"Locked him out – why?"

"I don't know, babe. Probably because he never shuts the hell up. Now come on and get up."

"No! I'm sleeping. You handle it. I'm not getting out of this bed."

"Please, babe. Tami, come on. Please?"

She pushed herself up a little. "Look, you need to be nice to him. Remember when you were struggling to get the funding you needed last season, and he drummed up all those boosters for you? Where would your team be without him? Now go be nice and let me sleep."

He sighed and pulled on a pair of gray sweat pants. When he got back out, Marty had apparently scrounged up pint glasses himself and had poured the lambic. Eric sat in his recliner and picked up the glass, sipped, and winced.

"You love it, don't you?" Marty said. "I knew you would."

"It's a little sweet. That ain't right. Is this beer?"

"It's raspberry lambic."

Eric shook his head. He put the pint glass down. "I'm going to get some real beer."

He returned with an open beer. Marty was holding and drinking Eric's pint glass now. He'd apparently drained his own already. "I'm just watching old game tape," Eric said. "This is really going to bore you. Maybe you should go to a bar or something until Ralph cools off."

"No, it won't bore me," Marty insisted, putting his feet up on the coffee table. "You know I love football. And not just for the tight pants."

Eric closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Then he opened them and forwarded the tape a little and started chugging his beer.

/-***-/

"You have got to dress better for Tami, Coach," Marty announced. "Is that what you usually wear around the house?"

Eric had just finished his second beer and Marty had polished off the rest of the lambic. "In the evenings?" Eric answered, looking at the screen rather than Marty. "Yeah."

"There's a hole under the arm of that under shirt. And those sweats are baggy. Coach, you need to dress better for your woman."

Eric turned his head slowly in Marty's direction. "Tami doesn't care what I wear. And I don't either. Because I'm not vain."

Marty made a tsk tsk sound. "You'd get laid more often if you dressed better. That's all I'm saying."

"I get laid plenty, thank you very much." He paused the game tape and leaned forward.

"They run good counters," Marty said. "What are you going to do about that next season?"

Eric looked at him. "Why do you know so much about football anyway?" He'd wondered, but this was the first time he'd directly asked.

"I used to play in high school, you know. In Indiana. I told you that."

When had Marty told him that? He must have been tuned out at the time. "You did?" Eric looked at him quizzically. "You uh…didn't get…you know…smeared?"

"I was deep, deep in the closet back then."

"What position?" Eric asked. "I mean," he hastened, "what position did you play in football?"

"Holder."

"Ah."

"What does that mean?" Marty asked defensively.

"Nothing," Eric insisted.

"Oh, yeah, and I also doubled as the quarterback."

Eric turned his head very slowly and looked at him. Then he shook his head, turned back to the TV, and unpaused the game film. "You check your messages? Ralph call yet?"

"No, he's going to need at least an hour." Marty put his empty pint glass on the coffee table. He stood up and grabbed Eric's empty beer bottles. "How about I get us a bottle of wine?"

"Okay," Eric said. "There's a bunch of bottles in the cabinet next to the fridge."

When Marty was back Eric started sipping the wine he handed him right away.

"Ten years," Marty muttered.

"What?"

"Ten years. You'd think Ralph would have a _conversation_ before locking me out."

Eric downed the rest of his glass of wine. He'd never _chugged_ wine before. It burned a little.

"How long have you and Tami been married?"

"Twenty-two years. I mean twenty-three. No. Twenty-two."

Marty tsked. "You better figure that one out, Coach. You don't want to make that mistake around Tami."

"I doubt she could tell you off the top of her head either. Whatever year it is, it's not a multiple of five."

"So what are you getting her for your anniversary?"

"The usual. Flowers. Champagne. A hotel for the night if I can swing it."

"That's it? Really? You should take her on a week-long vacation."

"Nah. We have a five-year-old."

"Oh, you can afford it. Send the kid to camp."

Eric sipped steadily until the glass was empty. Occasionally he would pause and rewind the game film. He kept missing things. He blinked. He'd downed two beers and two glasses of wine in pretty rapid succession, and he hadn't had his usual seconds at dinner. His eyes were starting to twinkle. Eric nodded to the bottle, and Marty poured him another glass, and then refilled his own.

"This is a pretty good one," Marty said, lifting the now empty bottle and examining the label. "Tami picked it, I assume."

"She's a good picker," Eric said. He was smiling broadly now. "She picked me, after all."

"And I bet she had a lot of men to pick from. Gorgeous, gorgeous woman your wife. Classy. Classy – you don't find that often. Sexy and classy. Gorgeous, classy, sexy, AND smart." Marty had had his share of alcohol, but Marty was a highly functional alcoholic, so his free tongue was probably just that - his free tongue.

"Be glad you're not some other man saying that."

"If I _was_ straight, and I said all that, would you punch me?" Marty asked.

"My wife doesn't like me to punch people."

"Sure she does," Marty said. "She just pretends she doesn't it. It turns her on."

"Trust me..." Eric shook his head. He sipped his wine, slowly this time. "No."

"She does. She just won't admit it. She files it away for future reference." The science teacher stood. "Since we're obviously getting trashed, where do you keep your scotch?"

Eric leaned his head back over the recliner slightly, jerking it in the direction of the kitchen. "Top cabinet three down from the sink."

"Seriously," Marty said when he returned and began pouring. "I bet Tami loves it when you fight. I'm told chicks dig it, even if they say otherwise."

Eric lifted his glass, shot back his scotch, and hissed. "Nah. She doesn't. Take Mo for example."

"Who's Mo?" Marty leaned back into the couch.

"She was mad when I punched Mo at that restaurant."

"Who's Mo?" Marty repeated, refilling Eric's glass.

"Mo. Damn Mo." The scotch sloshed in Eric's glass as he picked it up from the table. "The cocktail party should have been enough! Shouldn't it of?"

"By the tone of your voice," Marty said, "I would venture to guess – yes. Yes. It should have been enough."

"Make me watch him take off in a helicopter," Eric muttered. "Then she goes and invites him to my football game too. And then – on top of _all_ that – all that! - she insists we all go out to a fancy dinner together. Fancy dinner in my suit and tie with Mo in that stupid getup he wears – casual Texas gentry – whatever the hell that is – and that cowboy hat – I mean, I'm sorry but you know the man is an ass right there with that cowboy hat."

"Yeah," Marty agreed with a smile, "well that's a sure sign."

"But she makes me go anyway. Cocktail party's not enough! Game's not enough! Got to show me he can not only fly off in a helicopter, but he can afford a fancy dinner too! Why did she insist we do that? I mean, seriously, Marty what the hell was that?"

"I don't have the foggiest notion," Marty said. "What the hell _was_ that?"

"Maybe you're right. Maybe she did want me to fight him! You think? She wanted me to fight over her? I mean, why else would she do all that? I mean seriously. He was her ex! They had sex – two years! Two years they were going at it like little…little…well…regular-sized….human-sized bunny rabbits. Make me go to dinner. Let him hold my baby in the stands, my Gracie Belle all in her pink bundle of - What was that?"

Marty laughed. "I have no idea what you're talking about, but it's hilarious."

"All that money. I'm just…coaching… in Dillon. Some small town. She could have had him instead of me if she wanted, and then he comes blowing through town wiping his ass with fifty dollar bills, and he makes it clear she could have had him, and - "

Marty pointed at him with his own empty scotch glass. " - She didn't want him! She didn't want that guy! She wanted you!"

"Yeah!"

"That guy…MO! MO! What, was he friends with Curly?"

"Yeah!" Eric agreed, pouring another shot scotch. "What the hell kind of name is Mo? Who's named Mo?"

"Mo could never satisfy Tami," Marty insisted. "Never!"

Eric nodded.

"Not man enough, that guy," Marty said.

"You're a'ight," Eric said, "Anyone ever tell you you're a'ight?"

"Lots of people. First time _you_ ever told me though."

"Well you are. A'ight!"

"What is going _on_ out here?" rose Tami's voice from the hallway. She came out wrapped in a robe. "What are you boys…are y'all drinking?"

Eric glanced at the scotch bottle and then at Tami. "I'm drinking, baby. You want to drink with us?"

"No," she said. "And keep it down. You'll wake Gracie. Quiet out here!" She went back to the bedroom.

Marty laughed. "She sure slammed that door for someone claiming to want to be quiet."

Eric raised his glass, but then realized it was empty. Marty extended the scotch bottle. Eric shook his head. "I better drink some water or I'll have a splitting headache tomorrow." Marty took Eric's glass to the kitchen and filled it with water. When he sat back down again, he said, "So, uh…you're losing an assistant coach."

"Yeah."

"So if you need a new one…" Marty raised an eyebrow.

"Of course I'll need a new one. Before the next three months are out. In time for summer training. Jim was my right hand."

"Well, I can think of someone who used to play, who knows the game, and who would make a superb right hand man." Marty winked.

"Who?" Eric asked. "Is he available?"

"Einstein, I'm talking about myself. You know I know the game. You know I give you good advice."

Eric's eyes took on a stunned expression. "Yeah, you do," he said quietly, and then drained the rest of his water glass. "But I….uh….I don't know if that's a good idea."

"Why?" Marty asked pointedly.

Eric looked away from Marty. There was no escape between these walls. They'd been having a good time. Why had he had to go and ask that? "Just…not sure it is," Coach Taylor sputtered. "You know. Coaches are in the locker room a lot."

"Christ, I'm not a pedophile, Eric."

"I didn't…suggest…I'm not a pedophile either, but I still don't hang out in the girls' locker room."

"You have a gay player on your team," Marty said, slumping down, stretching his legs out, and crossing them one over the other. "You don't make him dress in a separate locker room."

"What?" Eric asked. "Who?"

Marty raised an eyebrow. "I'm not into outing people."

Eric shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Does…do other students know?"

"You care?"

"I care if it causes a problem for the team, or if it leads to some political blow out…you know all the crap that gets in the way of the game, whether we want it to or not."

"I don't think anyone knows. But my point is it doesn't _matter_."

"But everyone knows _you're_…Marty, _everyone_ knows. It'd be…different."

"Yeah, the boosters know too, and I still get money out of them."

"That's different." Marty was persistent, and he could put the squeeze on, and he had a way of talking money into a corner, until it just fluttered into the air and rained down in hope of an escape. Then again, he also had passion for the game, and he knew what he was talking about.

"Fine," Marty hissed. "You'll take the money I drum up for you. You'll even take my advice between classes. But you won't give me any respect."

Eric swallowed. "I appreciate, Marty…I really appreciate – "

"Oh, you _appreciate_. Well, thanks for the _appreciation_. Fat lot of good your appreciation does me." Marty shot back his scotch and grabbed his keys off the coffee table. "I'm going to a bar."

"You can't…you've been drinking too much. Even with your tolerance, you can't drive after - "

"- Well clearly I'm not welcome here." Marty took two steps toward the door.

"Stay. Just – "

"Eric, you have a reputation for courage, you know. For standing up to the Pemberton administration, for not caving to the committees. For standing up for the things you believe in, for …you have that reputation, you know? For courage."

Eric swallowed and didn't respond.

"Well I'm not sure it's entirely earned." Marty walked toward the foyer.

Eric rose to follow him. "Man, come on. I didn't mean to offend you."

"Well you sure succeeded." Marty put a hand on the front door.

"You can't drive drunk. Let me call you a cab at least."

"Don't worry. I'll call my own damn cab. Outside." Marty dropped his hand from the knob and fished out his cell. "Oh, look, Ralph texted. All's forgiven. He'll probably come pick me up now. I'll wait for him outside." He went out the front door and slammed it behind himself.


	6. Chapter 6

**SIX**

Eric contemplated following Marty out the front door but then decided it would be better to talk to him sober and in the teacher's lounge on Monday, when his filter was back in place and he'd be less likely to say something he regretted, so instead he stumbled his way to bed.

When he crawled in, Tami stirred. "Did you have fun with Marty?" she asked. "A little too much fun? You know we have church tomorrow. "

"He thinks I'm a coward."

"What? Who thinks you're a coward?" She rolled over to face him.

"Marty."

"Why?"

"Because he asked to be assistant coach and I told him it was a bad idea."

"Oh. And you told him that because he's openly gay?" She put an elbow on the mattress and leaned her head against her hand. "Because you certainly didn't tell him that because you don't need an assistant, or because he doesn't know and love the game."

"Well, Tami, you know that's going to be an issue. You _know_ it is. Coaches have to be in the locker room. And we're talking about teenage boys here. You know there's going to be some kind of an uproar if I - "

"- I know, babe. I do know."

He sighed. "I wish he hadn't asked."

"It would certainly be more convenient for you if he hadn't."

He grimaced.

"Maybe you should think about it a little more," she said.

"Tami, there's nothing more to think - "

" - You're _going_ to think about it. I know you. Whether you want to or not. You're going to agonize, and no matter what you finally decide to do, you're going to feel guilty."

"Maybe," he said. "But not tonight." He closed his eyes. "The room is kind of spinning."

"Uh-huh. Well, you're still going to church with us tomorrow. I don't care how hung over you are."

"Tami - "

"We can skip Sunday School and go to the late service, but that's my only concession. Besides, you could probably use a little spiritual guidance."

"I can't go to church hungover," he muttered, placing a hand on his head.

"You know that hymn we always sing? _Come as You Are?_ Well that's how you're going tomorrow."

He groaned. She turned her back to him. "Nite, sugar," she said. "Don't wake me up if you have to heave up all that scotch and wine."

**/-*-/**

Coach Eric Taylor rarely popped into the teacher's lounge. After all, he had a coffee pot in his office, and he wasn't particularly interested in the school gossip. This Monday morning, though, he was looking for Marty. He found the science teacher pouring the too black coffee into a styrofoam cup.

"Hey, Marty," he said casually.

Marty turned and eyed him but didn't say a word. He put the pot back on the burner.

"How hung over were you on Sunday? Do you know Tami made me go to church? Can you imagine that?" Marty did not reply. "And it was youth Sunday, which means they let the youth run the service, so of course they had drums and electric guitars and that god awful loud praise music." Marty sipped his coffee and pretended to read a notice posted on the bulletin board above the pot. "The pastor said he admired me for my devotion, since I came to church even when I was obviously sick. I wonder if he knew and was being snide." Marty moved his eyes to another notice. Eric didn't think he could keep talking like this for long. These were already more words than he'd ever said at once, sober, to another man, outside of a lockeroom speech of course. "So how was your Sunday morning?" he asked again.

Marty turned and walked away.

"Come on, man!" Eric called after him. "Not even my wife gives me the silent treatment like this."

Marty turned and took three quick steps back to the coffee pot. "That's because she has a better weapon." The teacher's lounge was nearly desolate as the bell had just rung, but it was Eric's free period and Marty was notorious for being late to every class. He'd been chided by the principal, but because he always got great teacher evaluations and his classes always had the highest standardized test scores in science, Principal Shoemaker didn't really do anything about it. "Tami can withhold sex. Somehow I don't think you'd be terribly distraught if I did that."

Eric busied himself pouring a cup of coffee he didn't particularly want. Why did Marty always have to let the innuendos slip? Friendship with him would be a hell of a lot easier if he would just…not do that. _And_ if he wouldn't ask to be an assistant coach. Once Eric had his cup, he held it between two hands and managed to look at Marty again. "Look, man, I really am sorry I offended you. But surely you understand the difficulty of my situation, especially here in Pennsylvania, in the wake of all that Sandusky – "

"Oh, now I'm a child rapist?"

"Jesus, Marty! You know that's not what I'm saying! Stop being such a…"

"Girl?"

Erich sighed heavily. "All I mean is that coaches are under a lot of scrutiny. A lot. You know I have to get a background check at the beginning of _every_ single season now? Once in the hiring process isn't enough. And they fingerprinted me last season. They've got my fingerprints on file."

"Well not to worry. I wore gloves the last time I tried to steal the Hope diamond."

Eric rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. When he opened them he said, "I used to give teenage boys rides home from practice. It gave me time to talk to them, you know? Make an impact. Find out what's _really_ going on that gets in the way of the play. I can't do that anymore. It's like you're in a damn fishbowl. Coaching is…it's different now. It's been changing gradually for years and years, but lately…by leaps and bounds…and now, you know, with your…" he muttered the word quietly "orientation…there's going to be even more scrutiny for you, and there's bound to be parents who pitch a fit, raise a ruckus over – "

" - And you're too much of a coward to take that?"

"Marty, it's going to be a distraction for the _team_. A _major_ distraction. Do you think that's going to help us win games?"

"So it's all about winning with you then?"

Eric's face took on a dumbfounded expression. "Of course it is! It sure as hell ain't about losing. Or making a political statement. I don't do politics, Marty."

Marty laughed. "No, I mean, you don't want me to be an assistant coach because you think the resulting blow-up would hurt the team, _**not**_ because you think I'd be a bad coach?"

"Of course I don't think you'd be a bad coach. You know the game. You give great advice. You're an excellent teacher. You'd probably make a great coach. If it weren't for all the other nonsense that's going to pour out of it…I just…a more relaxed lifestyle. I don't want that headache. I just want…a more relaxed lifestyle than I used to have in Dillon. There was always something. I don't want bricks through the window anymore."

Marty raised an eyebrow. "Bricks? Through your window?"

"Football is different in Texas."

Marty sighed. "Well…okay. I guess that's all I really wanted to hear."

"What?"

"That you respect me."

"Of course I respect you." Coach Taylor shook his head, as if clearing off his confusion. "So we're…okay?"

"I'm still irritated by the situation, but I'm not _as_ pissed at you as I was. Besides, I guess I could better use the time to work on my Nobel Prize in science. Are you going to drink that coffee?"

Coach Taylor stared into the thick blackness of the liquid and grimaced. "Nah." He looked back at Marty. "You…uh…maybe want to sit in on some of the strategy meetings next season, though? Just give us your take? Unofficially. Sometimes we meet at a bar or at my house."

"That way you don't have to pay me, huh?"

"Assistant coaches get paid peanuts at Pemberton anyway, and I have no control over their stipends. I'll buy you a nice case of raspberry lambic, though."

"It's a deal." Marty stretched out his hand and Eric clasped it. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

"I can appreciate that."

**/ AND THAT THERE'S THE END / **


End file.
